Realm: Ruler of the People, God of Death: The Realm Saga

By Jessica Cantwell

A CHOICE THAT WILL ELECTRIFY THE SOUL

 

Rescuing their father thrusts Lily, Dmitry, and the team into the hands of King Theothantanos, ruler of Realm. Unbeknownst to Lily, her father was held in captivity for killing the queen. Now, all those responsible for aiding in his escape are wanted by the sovereign for committing treason.

 

To avoid capture, they flee and rely on Kirill's abilities to find refuge. He leads them to an untraceable mountain cavern. But can they trust the traitorous tracker? Blaze senses an unknown threat within. Ignoring his warnings, the group enters without him. Sadly, they cannot leave without sacrificing someone in the process.

 

The devastating loss causes tempers to flare and the group to unravel. They are already down two members when Jaasin vanishes in the middle of the night. Dmitry is determined to find his father once more while Lily struggles with her possible demise if captured, feelings of deception, and the loss of love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jessica Cantwell
• Release date: May 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798986010946

Jessica Cantwell

Jessica lives with her family and cats in a charming seaside town on the eastern end of Long Island. When she isn’t writing, you can find her reading, yard sale rummaging, drawing, painting, or refinishing furniture. Jessica has a passion for baking (eating everything she bakes) and travel. You may find her biting bitterballen in Amsterdam, popping pirogues in Poland, or munching on meat pies in London! Multiple Sclerosis may slow her down, but it will never stop her from living her best life.

Book preview

Chapter One

Drained

King Theothantanos:

Y our Majesty?

What is it, Mackinnley?

My lord, what has become of you? You're much too tired. Withering away before my very eyes. Look at you. You're drained!

News flash, Mackinnley! Tell me something I don't know.

Oh, this can wait. You need rest. I won't bother you.

Yet you already have.

Yes ... yes, sire. Very true, you have me there ... yet completely unintentional it was.

Is!

I see your point. Yes, very well.

And yours? Will you be getting to it any time soon, Mackinnley?

My what, sir?

POINT! POINT! The reason you are disturbing me so!

Yes, I ... I just thought you'd be happy to know your new shipment is on its way.

Indeed. How many will I receive this time?

Two dozen. And we have more signing up every day.

Hah! I knew it. Does anyone suspect ...?

Not a thing.

Magnificent! Mackinnley, that is the best news I've heard all day!

Yes, yes, sire. I thought it might be. Sire? SIRE? THE GROUND! WE MUST GET YOU SOMEWHERE SAFE!

Relax, it's not at all what it appears to be. Things seldom are. This here is no ordinary quake.

How can you be so sure, my lord?

Because nineteen years ago I created it.

You created a quake?

Nineteen years. I can't quite believe it's taken this long. Hmmm, I wonder ....

What are you saying, sir?

YOU FOOL! WHAT DO YOU THINK I SPEAK OF?

Could it be? After all this time?

Could it be? Could it be? YOU NITWIT, WHAT ELSE DO YOU SUPPOSE IT IS?

Ah? ... Uh?

Ah hah! Look at her, Mackinnley! My beautiful Daviana has come back to me. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. My darling, oh how I've waited for the day you would return to me.

Sire? Sire? You, you do know she can't hear you, right?

OF COURSE I KNOW SHE CAN'T HEAR ME! SHE'S A STATUE, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! WHAT KIND OF BLUBBERING MORON DO YOU THINK I AM? TEARLACH! VILHELM! GATHER THE TROOPS. YOU HAVE WORK TO DO!

Yes, Your Majesty.

Mackinnley?

Master?

What a lovely day this has turned out to be.

Yes, yes, it most certainly has. Oh no, no, sire. You mustn't get up. You need to rest.

Hush now, Mackinnley. Rest? Now? Why I have the strength of twenty men pulsating through my veins. Try and stop me. Daviana's return is the icing on my cake. Prepare the castle! Alert the kitchen! We shall have company any second, and I am feeling quite famished.

Chapter Two

New Beginning

Lily:

Ioften wonder how and why moods can change like the flip of a switch. One second I'm basking in the glory of what feels like perpetual elation, then CLICK, life kicks me in the groin!

Now I'm suffering a severe case of depression and wondering how I got here so quickly? Is it just me? Am I the only one that can snap in and out of a funk this fast?

Seriously though, how can my emotions ebb and flow so rapidly without even allowing time for the transition? I spend more time thinking about it than my body allows for the flux. When it comes down to it, it is an incredible superpower in and of itself. And just like the actual ability I do have, which is invisibility (in case you didn't know), I have to learn how to control it.

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It all started on March twenty-fifth, nineteen-ninety-two, when my mother and father were out strolling through Patterson Park in Baltimore, Maryland, the town where I grew up. That night was a clear and crisp one, so I am told. Yet, they managed to keep warm in each other's arms.

They hadn't known each other very long. A few days after Christmas a man stumbled through the doors of Johns Hopkins Hospital for a psychiatric evaluation, where my mother was interning. He was disoriented, grief-stricken, and in need of help. One look into his vivid blue-green eyes, and my mother was smitten. When she took him by the hand, it was as if nothing else existed.

Instead of admitting him as a patient, she used an unorthodox approach and took him out for a cup of coffee. They talked all night. About what, I'll never know, for my mother would never disclose that information. Every time I ask her, her response is always the same. Doctor/patient confidentiality.

What I do know is that her unconventional cup of coffee that night offered up an accelerated, ground-breaking counseling session which, in turn, led to her opening her own psychiatric rehabilitation center years later, called Revitalize.

But back then, in the early months of nineteen-ninety-two (the happiest months of my mother's life), these two strangers were no longer man and woman, patient and doctor. They became one. Hungry in love, they devoured every waking moment together, always thirsting for more.

It was that fire that kept them warm the night of March twenty-fifth. Blinded by love, oblivious to their surroundings, the two lovebirds happily frolicked through the quiet grounds of Patterson Park, playfully chasing one another around the dilapidated observatory. My mother vaguely remembers her fall, the sharp twist of her ankle followed by a small cry of pain.

From the moment she fell to the ground, the events were a little bit foggy. She remembers my father running to her, kissing her forehead, whispering in her ear that she was alright. She let out an embarrassed giggle amidst dampened eyes while he caressed her ankle, rubbing it gently, bathing it with his sweet kisses.

The pain began to dissipate, replaced by a warm internal glow, much like the feeling you get after a glass of wine. She was drunk, drunk on love. That happy numbness was followed by ease. She felt so silly at that moment. One, for feeling confident enough to run in heels (because she never wore heels), and two, for overestimating her injury.

She stood without any discomfort and thanked him for coming to her rescue. A period of teasing ensued. Playful taunting followed by bouts of childish laughter. And when their giggling died down, they stood there gazing into each other's eyes. No words were exchanged. They already knew what one another was thinking, feeling.

My mother always tells me, There is no need for words when you're blessed with such emotional and psychological interaction. Chemistry, Lily, pure chemistry! One day you will meet a man who will ignite a spark within you. When that day arrives, you will understand the power of your affinity.

It was chemistry that alerted my father to the presence of danger, for the look in my mother's eyes told him something was severely wrong. He did not turn to see the two men, dressed in black, standing behind him. He didn't need to survey the land to know that they were alone, cloaked in the black of night, cornered against a vandalized ramshackle building.

I'm so sorry, Orvah. Please forgive me, my father whispered. And that was it. The brisk assault was a blur. In the blink of an eye, the two mysterious men vanished, taking my father along with them. Extinguishing their fire, my mother was left all alone and cold.

At first, she stood frozen, too afraid to move. It was barely a minute before her fear turned to worry. She ran around the grounds frantically, calling for him to no avail. She alerted the police, filed a report about the attack. Every square inch of the park was searched, from the skating rink to the boat lake and even the decaying pagoda. There was no sign of a struggle, no sign of my father. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. Better yet, since there was no record of anyone with his name residing in the Baltimore area, it was as if he never existed.

People around the neighborhood were beginning to think my mother was losing her mind. Blamed it on her spending too much time at that looney bin she liked to call work. My grandfather, Mac, was her biggest supporter. There was no doubt in his mind that the events of that night actually occurred. He led the search at the park himself and often returned to walk it alone. Come hell or high water, he wouldn't give up until my mother blew the whistle.

People started to come around as time passed, and my mother began to swell. When I arrived a little less than forty weeks later, on the first and coldest night of December, the gossip mill had laid the crazy talk to rest and rallied by her side in support. She had a new bundle of joy to keep her busy, and the search for my father came to an abrupt halt. One look into my eyes, his eyes, told her he was with her all along.

I would like to tell you my childhood was a normal one. For the most part, it was. Grandmother, Grandpa Mac, Mom, and I all resided in our cozy row house at number 6 Boyer Street, located in a small section of Baltimore known as Butcher's Hill. Together we were one happy family, and from within the confines of our form-stone walls, everything to me was picture perfect. But, then again, I was just a child, and when you're that young, all of your life is seen from the inside out. And most of what you see are images and concepts created from the fantasy of your own foolish mind, innocence mixed with pure imagination. Take my best friend, Ina, for example!

It wasn't until I reached prepubescent adolescence that reality started to sink in, and I became aware of how different my family and myself really were. Not until that point in time did it ever occur to me how unusual it was to have an imaginary friend until the age of eight.

After I was forced to stop playing with Ina, little bits and pieces of real-life started to infiltrate their way into my head. While I was out walking with Mac, it became clear. I was the only child not playing something. There I was eagerly learning about birds and vegetation while other children were running in circles trying to tag one another, kicking a ball around, or climbing on the jungle gym. They were playing the kind of fun and games that I only experienced as part of our physical education curriculum at school.

As much as I loved participating in those events, I enjoyed Grandpa Mac's lessons a whole lot more. Sadly, while I was supposed to be learning about nature, it was during those times that the outside started to seep in. And that is how I began perceiving my family and myself from the outside in.

I noticed how I chose to occupy my free time wasn't the only thing that separated me from the other children. My family was whimsical. Recycling, raw-food-eating, incense-burning hippies! No, that's not quite right. After all, they're not the acid-dropping beatniks with tie-dyed t-shirts and flip-flops. They're, well, naturalists. Plain and simple!

I watched children chowing down on over-processed foods like cheeseburgers, hot dogs, potato chips, bologna sandwiches, chocolate bars, and cotton candy as I nibbled on organic carrots and cucumbers. Every smell wafted through my nostrils and danced on my taste buds, leaving me with temptation. I wanted to know what it was like to taste the salt, the grease, and the sweet smell of candied sugar. I just had to!

At the age of twelve, after my grandmother fell ill, I began trying to fit in. Easier said than done! I started pitching my homemade lunch for vending machine snacks. I would tell Mac I was going to the park to look for birds just to get the chance to jump on the jungle gym, but by then, it was too late. The kids my age had moved on to something new, like group dates at the movie theatre and slumber parties. I stood out like a sore thumb. And it wasn't just because I was old enough to babysit for half of the kids on the playground that I still pathetically roamed. It was because I was taller, skinnier, and paler than everyone else my age.

When I say paler, I truly mean it. Every inch of my hair and skin, head to toe, is the whitest shade of white. Platinum! Yet, I'm not an albino, which all of my classmates at school assumed I was. They were too thick-headed to know that, unlike an albino, I have plenty of pigment in my naturally berry-stained lips and my razor-sharp aquamarine eyes.

Come to find out; my eyes completely freaked them out too. Most of the population has brown. We've all seen shades of blue, hazel, even green, and black. But to match the blue-green waters of the Caribbean Sea is something you only get when wearing colored contact lenses, which I don't.

Elizabeth Taylor had violet eyes, another rarity, and was labeled a bombshell, so I hold out hope for myself. Yet I couldn't argue that at twelve years old. I doubt anyone else my age even knew who she was.

I doubt anyone else my age was reading Marion Zimmer Bradley's Mists of Avalon or Michael Crichton's Jurassic Park, which is precisely what I did when Grandmother could no longer leave her bed.

My days of roaming Patterson Park trying to gain acceptance dissolved into hours upon hours of round-the-clock caregiving that I was more than happy to do. At Grandma's bedside, I pored through fantasy novels, memoirs, and biographies of some of her favorite celebrities, including Marilyn Monroe, Judy Garland, John F. Kennedy, and of course, Elizabeth Taylor.

Yet, no matter how content I felt at home, it all changed the moment my toes hit the front stoop of the house. Like putting a wool sweater over sensitive skin, I was instantly agitated, my curiosity merely scratching the surface of my displeasure.

So naturally, one day, while returning books to the library, I stopped to do something I had never done before. First, I roamed through the cinema section, reading title upon title of blockbuster hits and television series. Next, I searched through the children's movie section combing over every cartoon character, every classic masterpiece.

A feeling like no other began to rise up into the pit of my stomach. I was angry, jealous, and sad that my family would allow me to miss out on such normal childhood entertainment, for we had never owned a television. After that, I stormed through the whole foods store, gathering the items on the list I had been given that morning, then stomped into the nearest fast food restaurant and ordered a cheeseburger off the dollar menu.

Although I had been deceiving my family by gorging on pretzels and potato chips at school, this was downright defiant. That first bite of meat was so irresistible I dare say I wanted another but knew full well not to spend any more of Grandpa Mac's money than I already had.

From that moment on, the floodgates were open, and after Grandma passed, I had the time and freedom to secretly drown my sorrows in vats of greasy goodness. And that is precisely what I did up until my mother admitted herself as a patient into her own psychiatric rehabilitation center.

Again, the neighborhood busybodies exploded with your run-of-the-mill grapevine gossip, and when it got right down to the root of things, no one was left rallying at our side anymore. Orla had died, Orvah was crazy, Mac was distant, and Lily was downright weird.

I was sad, angry, confused, depressed, and most of all lonely. Food became my only companion, my only escape. Greasy burgers and fries turned into glazed doughnuts and bear claws. I no longer sugar-coated my delinquency, choosing to wolf down as much garbage in front of Mom as I possibly could; the insubordinate animal inside me waited for her to attack. But she never did.

Never in my life would I pull such a stunt in front of Mac, but then again, he wasn't the one who abandoned me. I wanted her to hurt as much as I did but couldn't even get a rise out of her. Instead, I got the You know Lily, binge eating is generally followed by feelings of guilt and depression. It is a vicious cycle that can lead to long-term side effects that can affect your health negatively. If something is bothering you, we should get to the root of the problem, speech she would give to any one of her patients. Bottom line, she was absolutely clueless, and, in my eyes, that translated to she didn't care.

Don't get me wrong, I was still upset about her choice to stay at Revitalize rather than coming home with me, but I no longer clung to her side, refusing to go home without her. I'm more than sure Mac was grateful for this revelation, seeing as he no longer had to drag me home kicking and screaming.

I, too, was happy about the change in going-home plans. Since I was older, I had the freedom to linger about. My home away from home became the Salvation Army thrift shop. That's where I splurged on a fifteen-dollar portable DVD player using some of the money I earned from working weekends at Revitalize.

At night, I would pop in videos that I had rented from the library and watch quietly in the comfort of my bed while Mac slept in his room down the hall. Then, one evening, as I reached past the collection of used books cluttering the top of my nightstand to turn off my lamp, it became all too clear. Those stories would never desert me. Fantasy became my oasis.

I yearned for an escape. Questioning death, fantasizing about far-off lands – anything that would put an end to my lonely existence. Then one day, it came to me. Not by choice, I may add, but it came to me all the same. It all started after draining an electric-blue drink (that I should not have had) at a bar named THE REAL McKEY (where I should not have been)!

The day before was a normal one for me. I woke as I always did, shrouded by a black cloud, too depressed to climb out of bed. By eleven o'clock, I had arrived at work then was rolled over, once again, by the wheels of my mother's crazy train.

Every hour on the hour, I had to walk away from my post at the front desk to visit her up in her suite. That way, Orvah could see that I was alive and well. The voices inside her head gave her the notion that I was in grave danger, and although it was a burden to check in, I was happy to prove her wrong time and time again.

Later that night, on my way home, I saw these two guys watching me. I could have sworn they were following me, but it was all a huge misunderstanding, thanks to the paranoia planted by my mother's evil seed. It turned out they were just looking for some lost dog, or so I thought at the time.

Anyway, what made the situation worse that day at work was that my co-worker and best friend, Sonny, acted peculiar. She usually was my savior when I was down in the dumps, but her behavior only intensified my feelings that day. It was Sonny who suggested we go out for a drink knowing full well that I